Only at Drama Camp
by Lyrical Soliloquy
Summary: Modern-day Newsies meet at drama camp and grow closer together as the show goes on. Rated T for language and possible "happenings" in later chapters. Based on my own experiences at drama camp. Slash.
1. Day One, Part One

**Day One, Part One**

"_Goodbye_, mother." Seth Conlon stood ramrod straight on the crest of the hill while his mother buried her face in his neck.

"Oh, honey, I'm gonna miss you!" The woman clinging to him howled.

"Yeah, Mom, I'll miss you too. Now please let go of me."

The woman complied, and immediately began fishing in her overlarge handbag for a lacey handkerchief. "Write everyday now," she said, dabbing her eyes carefully.

"Yeah, Mom." Seth rolled his eyes as his mother turned to walk back to the car. He had just turned around to head down the hill when a loud, tearful voice cried out, "Love you, Sethykins!"

Seth slapped his hand to his face and refused to answer. _Come on, Kathy, _he thought, _It's a two-week drama camp!_ Silently, and hoping that no one had heard his mother's farewell, the slim boy grabbed the handle of his suitcase and continued to the check-in area.

Tony couldn't scramble out of the minivan quickly enough. The two-hour road trip had nearly cost the life of younger brother Rocco. And now the short Italian-American boy was to spend two weeks pent up in a cabin with God-knows-how-many other boys. Great.

"'Bye, sweetie," called his mother, who was too busy keeping Tony's twin sisters Maria and Bianca in their car seats to help him with his bags. Not that he had that many; his family was so big that he was lucky to get away to such an expensive camp. He was also very lucky that this particular camp offered scholarships.

"'Bye, Mama," Tony replied. He wished that his father could be here to say goodbye too, but Frank Higgins was far too busy with his job to get time off. With six children and a stay-at-home wife to support, Tony could hardly blame him. But that knowledge didn't make his father's absence any less noticeable. "I'll write, if I can."

"Don't worry about it, primo. If you don't have time, you don't have time. I understand." Carlotta Higgins smiled at her oldest son from the open van door.

"Okay, Mama." Tony was never one to argue. He had finally managed to untangle his battered suitcase from the mess of diaper bags and lunchboxes in the trunk of the van, and he began to drag it unceremoniously towards the large Dining Hall, where he had been told to go for registration. "Arrivederci!" Tony called, looking back and waving at his family.

"Arrivederci!" A chorus of voices answered him. The Italian boy smiled, and turned again towards the Dining Hall.

The smiling woman with the large stack of files sitting on the card table in front of her looked up as Seth walked through the door. "Hi!" she said, "And who might you be?"

Seth felt like glaring at her; his overprotective mother had caused an even worse mood than usual. "Seth Conlon," he grumbled, squashing the urge.

"Let's see here… Seth… Conlon! Okay, it says here that you don't need any medications, or any dietary needs. All right, you're all set!" Seth nodded, rolling his eyes inwardly. _Why are you telling me, lady? I'm perfectly aware that I don't have any meds or special diets._ "Oh, by the way, I'm Darcie, and I'm the camp nurse. My cabin is that one, right by the rehearsal hall. I'm in there if you ever need anything, okay? Okay! So, your nametag should be on that big table, right over there."

"Sure," he growled, then proceeded to the other card table. A tall man with bushy brown hair stood behind it, talking on his cell phone. When he noticed Seth, the man covered the bottom of the phone and said, "Find your name. I'll be with you in a second." Seth nodded impatiently, and began to scan the small white cards. Almost immediately he found his. Seth Conlon, 16. _Why bother putting the age on there? It's not like anyone cares._ The man finished his conversation just as Seth was pinning his nametag to the front of his shirt. "So, you're Seth? Welcome to camp." The man shuffled through his own stack of papers. "You'll be in Highline cabin. It's the big one just outside and to the right of the Dining Hall. Your councilor is Bryan, but he won't be here until tomorrow."

Seth wondered why this Bryan guy would be late. _Seriously, we have, like, over three months notice as to when this starts. Get it together, dude. _

"Anyway," continued the man, "A couple of your cabin-mates have already arrived. They are, let's see here, Zeke Jameson and Leo Lowe. I saw them enter Highline just a few minutes ago."

Seth nodded again and left the small room. Luckily for him, Darcie the nurse was already preoccupied with another camper. Some short, dark-haired guy, Seth noted vaguely. Since there were only two cabins for boys, he figured that it was likely that Shorty would be in his cabin anyway. Maybe it would be worth it to introduce himself. _Eh, later. I should have plenty of time to make friends, if I want to, over the two weeks._

As he stepped outside into the sunshine to get his luggage, Seth noticed that a blonde guy and another dark-haired guy, this one with glasses, were sitting awfully close to each other on a bench next to the ping-pong tables. He could have sworn that the blonde guy's hand was touching the other guy's leg, too. _It is drama camp, isn't it? I'll bet that I'm the only straight guy here._ Rolling his eyes, Seth took his suitcase by the handle again and set off for the big cabin by the Dining Hall. A narrow, prickly trail led to the cabin, and Seth's suitcase was far too large to be dragged through it. Sighing, he picked it up by the side handle and forced his way past the bushes. He felt sharp thorns dig into his shins as he attempted to side step along the skinny path. _Damn, and I have to do this every day for two weeks?_ Finally, he arrived in the clear, gravelly space in front of the cabin door. Seth set his suitcase down and gingerly felt the scratches on his legs. He looked up sharply at the sound of the door opening.

"Hey. You in Highline?" A tall, lanky guy with curly black hair and a faded t-shirt was leaning against the door frame, admiring his fingers.

"Obviously." Seth wasn't in the mood for people who pointed out clearly apparent things right now.

"Good. We need more people. Well, come in."

_What the hell was this guy talking about? It's not like we're in a war or something._ "Uh, sure." Seth grabbed his suitcase again and walked through the door that the tall guy was holding open for him. The inside of the cabin was pleasantly cool, compared to the heat of outside. When he closed the door, the tall guy said, "I'm Zeke, but all of my friends call me Skittery. I don't know why." His eyes flickered to the side, and Seth could see his fingers drumming against his leg. _Oh, yeah, I haven't the slightest idea. _

"I'm Seth."

Another voice came from the adjoining room. "New guy?"

Skittery raised his voice in answer, "Yeah. Name's Seth."

A small African-American boy emerged from the room. "Hey. They call me Boots, but as you can tell by the nametag, my name's Leo. Welcome to Highline."

Seth nodded, and looked down at his suitcase. "So, where should I put my stuff?"

Boots and Skittery looked at each other. "You can stay in our room," Skittery said, now picking at a scab on his arm.

_Oh, goody._ "Okay."

The other room was dark, and even cooler than the front room. "Here, take this one. We'll make sure that no creep sleeps above you." Boots gestured to a bottom bunk near the window. Seth couldn't see anything wrong with it, so he dropped his suitcase onto the mattress with a clunk.

"Now, that's settled," Skittery said, still scraping at the scab. "C'mon. Let's go outside. Some more guys should be getting here soon."

Boots nodded agreeably, and Seth shrugged. _So far, so good. Might as well see what other lunatics will show up._ Skittery led the way out of the cabin, grabbing a hat from a nearby bunk. The hat had some indistinct dark gray blob on it, that when Seth looked closer turned out to be a chair on what looked like the top of a building. There was the silhouette on a man with his arms raised standing next to it. _What the hell kind of freak would wear something like that?_

Tony Higgins, or so his nametag read, stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room. Two of the four bottom bunks had already been taken, and one top bunk as well. The cabin was empty, and Tony had no idea who he was going to be spending the next two weeks with. He had seen some boys walk out of the cabin, and one of them was the crabby-looking guy that had been in the registration room at the same time as he had.

"Well, one seems as good as another," muttered Tony as he chose a random bunk to dump his stuff on. He unhooked his old gray sleeping bag from his suitcase and began to lay it out on the mattress. Just as he finished, he heard the front door creak as it opened. This was followed by a frustrated groan and a loud thump. Tony, abandoning his bed, peeked through the doorway to see who had entered. An unremarkable, medium-height boy stood forlornly, a gloomy look on his face. Tony couldn't tell why until he realized that the boy's suitcase was stuck in the doorframe. Tony stifled a chuckle as he went to help.

The plain boy looked up at the sound of footsteps. "Oh, hi," he murmured, "Uh, could you, uh, help me, please?"

"Of course!" Tony smiled.

The boy immediately looked relieved. "Oh, thank you! I guess I misjudged a little bit."

Tony laughed and stepped neatly over the heavy-looking suitcase to push on it from the other side. With a few strong shoves, the large bag was forced into the cabin. "So," said Tony, brushing of his hands, "I'm Tony. What's your name?"

"I'm Tanner. Tanner Legerland." He grinned nervously. "This is my second time here. You'd think that I would have learned to pack lighter."

"Hmmm, yeah. It's my first time. Do you like it here?"

"Boy, do I! It's amazing! The people are so accepting and even though you work pretty hard, it's such an awesome feeling when we do the final show." Tanner's smile widened at the memory.

"Man, sounds great." Tony couldn't help but smile too.

"It totally is. Well, I'm going to go pick my bunk, if you don't mind. Then we can go out to the main space and talk to people, 'kay?" Tanner picked up his heavy suitcase, or tried to, and tugged it into the bunk room. "Hey, Tony!" He called, "Which one's yours?"

Tony followed him in. "It's the one with the gray sleeping bag. This one," he gestured.

"Okay! I'll take the one above you."

"Okay." The Italian boy hoped that making other friends at this camp would be this easy.

Quickly, Tanner set up his bunk. When he was done, he jumped off and landed neatly in the middle of the floor. "Sorry," he said, looking up at Tony sheepishly, "I'm a dancer. I can't help wanting to jump off of stuff."

Tony laughed, and the two boys left the cabin.

The second that Seth, Skittery, and Boots arrived in the main clearing, they were nearly attacked by a rabble of girls. There were four girls' cabins to the two boys' ones, and so they were far outnumbered. It looked to Seth that Skittery and Boots were quite popular, as he could barely see them through the flurry of girls. "Okay, okay! Yeah, I'm back!" Skittery was trying to push his way out. Boots, being smaller, had already escaped. The tall boy forced his way through the throng, and then began to brush off his t-shirt. _You can brush all you want, dude, that dirt won't come off._ When he finished, Skittery said "So, girls. This is Seth. He's new this year. Seth, this is Amelia, Gretchen, Anne, Celia, and Riley."

One girl, a blonde with gray-green eyes, said, "My name is not Gretchen. It's Olive. And that's not Amelia, Anne, Celia, or Riley. Their names are, respectively, Purple, Ribbon, Twinkle, and Opera."

"Does everybody here have a nickname?" Seth asked without thinking.

Gretchen, or Olive, looked hurt. "Yeah. You'll get one too, eventually."

_I can hardly wait._ "Whatever."

Boots and Skittery looked at each other again. "Well," said Boots, "I think I see Snitch over there. Let's go, guys."

Olive and her gang exchanged glances. Suddenly, the girl named Amelia screeched, "Look; It's Itey! Get him!" The rabble screamed and began to chase a thin, dark-skinned boy. Seth almost felt sorry for him.

Skittery and Boots chuckled. "Come on, Seth."

"Gladly."

The three set out across the open space again, heading towards two figures on the other side. "Heya, Snitch!" Skittery called, waving his arms.

The boy called Snitch bounded forward. "Skittery! You in Highline?"

"You bet! So is Boots."

"Awesome! Hey, this is Tony. He's knew this year. He's in Highline too." Snitch indicated the short Italian boy behind him. Seth recognized him as the one in the Dining Hall.

Tony waved shyly. "Yeah, I'm Tony."

"Hey, Tony." Skittery and Boots responded at the same time. They looked at each other, again, and laughed. Seth rolled his eyes slightly. "This is Seth. He's new, too."

Seth smirked, which was his version of a smile, and slouched against a tree.

Snitch, Skittery, and Boots lapsed into conversations about what they had done since they had last seen each other. Seth didn't notice that the guy named Tony had inched closer to him until he said, "So, hey. Uh, are you in Highline too?"

Seth nodded shortly. "Yeah."

"Cool. What do you do?"

_What kind of dumbass would ask that? _"What do you mean?"

"Like, do you dance, or sing, or act, or a combination?"

"Oh, uh, mostly I act, but I can sing and dance too, I guess." Seth shrugged.

"Yeah, me too. Except that I mostly sing."

Seth grunted in reply. Tony looked a little crestfallen.

Meanwhile, Snitch, Skittery, and Boots had come to the conclusion that Seth and Tony needed nicknames right then and there. Boot said, "So, you sing?"

Tony looked at him. "Yeah."

"What's your favorite?"

Tony blushed almost immediately. "Well, uh, I, uh-"

"Don't be shy. Come on, it's drama camp."

"I like 'My Fair Lady'," Tony mumbled.

Seth had to stifle a snort. He still furrowed his eyebrows and looked away to roll his eyes. Skittery, though, said, "Awesome. We did that last year, you know? You just missed it. Actually, we only did one song, and that was that Ascot song, with the horses."

"You did 'Ascot Gavotte'?! No fair!"

"Yeah, that's it. And you totally remind me of it. So, from here onward, you shall be known as Racetrack, in honor of that song. We'll call you Race for short."

The newly christened Racetrack smiled at his nickname. "I love it!" he said.

Skittery grinned. "Good. Now for you, Seth."

Seth shot him a withering glare. "I don't really want a nickname, Skittery," he said bluntly.

"Nonsense!" Snitch said. "We all have nicknames."

"Yeah, and you need one too." Boots nodded his head definitely, which invited no more argument.

Seth didn't take the hint. "Seriously, I don't think that I need to be addressed like a dog, you know."

"Dog? What are you talking about? What, do you want us to call you Spot or something?" Suddenly, a light seemed to glow from Skittery's eyes. "Yes! We'll call you Spot."

Seth raised his eyebrows at the other boys. "You have got to be kidding me."

"No! Spot's perfect, don't you think, Snitch?"

The other boy nodded, clearly amused.

"How about you, Boots?"

"It fits perfectly!"

'Then Spot it is!" Skittery folded his arms triumphantly.

"Whatever," Seth, Spot, said, rolling his eyes. _Hell will freeze over the day I answer to a name like Spot._

Snitch glanced at his watch. "Hey! It's almost dinnertime. Let's go circle!"

Skittery and Boots whooped joyfully, and sprinted towards the front of the Dining Hall. Snitch waved Race and Seth to follow, and did the same. Race sped up to a run too, but Seth merely walked over grudgingly. Skittery called, "Spot! Over here!"

Seth turned without thinking. _Damn it. Here comes the snow, Satan._


	2. Day One, Part Two

**Day One, Part Two**

The heavy bell in the center of the camp rang loud and multiple times, and at first Racetrack didn't know why. Then he saw an older guy tugging on the rope that hung down under the bell. Skittery, Snitch, Boots, and a pair of other boys that had just walked over snapped to attention and rejoined the now-forming circle. The new blonde boy had introduced himself as Ben, though his nickname was Blink, and the other one, a handsomely tanned brown-haired boy Michael, went by Mush. The two were in Highline as well, and had shown up together. Either they were very, very close friends, or-

"Welcome to Performing Arts Camp 2009, everybody!" The old man, now standing in the center of the circle, shouted. His voice was surprisingly strong, Race thought, for his age. "So, before we go in for dinner, I'd like to introduce our counseling staff for this year. First off, there are Sarah and Becky, the dance captain and co-captain, in charge of Shelby cabin. And Medda, our vocal instructor, with Gabby in Sunset. And of course…" The old man went on to list the other girls' councilors. There were only four boys' councilors: Bryan, Terrence, Morris, and Oscar. Bryan and Terrence were the councilors for Highline. Then he introduced the nurse Darcie, and the cooks. Finally, he told the assembled campers that he was John Kloppman, the camp director.

Next to Race, Skittery, Blink, and Mush were engaged in a whispered conversation. Blink was in the middle, and so Mush had to lean over him to whisper to Skittery. Race noticed that the tanned boy's hand was resting on Blink's shoulder. Normally, Race wouldn't have thought twice about such a display, but the fact that Blink's head was leaning against Mush's was reason enough for him to wonder if they were in fact-

"Remember everyone, after dinner there is evening activity, led tonight by our fine councilors Sarah and Terrence. Then, when the next bell rings, I want everyone to go down into the Rehearsal Hall, that's the one right down the hill from here." The old man pointed at the yellowish building behind the bell tower. "Now, with announcements out of the way," said Kloppman, "Let's head in to dinner!" He glanced down at the clipboard in his hands. "Umm, Sunset girls, you go ahead in."

A relatively small group of older girls cheered loudly and went up the steps into the Dining Hall. It wasn't long until Kloppman called Highline to go in as well, and Race was swept up in the tide of boys rushing for food.

Spot followed his sprinting compatriots more slowly. He wasn't really looking forward to eating camp food, though he supposed that by the end of the two weeks, he would be desperate for any sort of nourishment. Judging by what his cabin-mates had been saying, the food here was not as horrible as it had been in the past few years.

Silently, Spot grabbed his tray of pale spaghetti and sat by the other boys in his cabin. There were many more than he thought there would be, and he was quite glad that they had to wear nametags. Most of the boys had taken the cards out of the plastic holders, flipped them over, and scribbled their nicknames on the back. If Terrence, the councilor, had noticed, he must not be too worried about it.

Spot surveyed the table, picking out faces that were already becoming familiar. There was Skittery, Boots, Snitch, Blink, and Mush. And the others that he had met recently, meaning while they waited for Kloppman to call their cabin, were Erik (known as Swifty), Chris or Dutchy, and Specs, whose real name was Scott. Another boy, who was supposed to be sitting with at the table with his cabin, was instead surrounded by the girls of the Shelby cabin, which included Olive and her gang. It was Itey, the one that the girls had chased earlier.

And, of course, there was Racetrack. Spot had discovered that Race's bunk was the one right next to his own, and he wasn't sure if he liked that or not. The kid seemed likeable enough, if a little bit odd, and though Spot didn't see what the big deal was about making friends with everyone that you met, he wouldn't mind being friends with Race. After all, he needed someone to talk to at this camp.

Skittery waved his hand in front of Spot's face. "Hey!," he said, "Pass the ketchup!"

Spot shook himself out of his thoughts. "What do you want ketchup for? We're eating spaghetti, right?"

"It's not for me. Blink wants it."

"Okay, what does Blink want ketchup for?"

Blink grinned, looking at Spot from the other side of Skittery. "Spaghetti tastes better with ketchup."

Eyebrows raised skeptically, Spot pushed the ketchup bottle towards Blink, and watching with horrific fascination as the blonde boy squeezed a good cups-worth of ketchup onto his plate of noodles.

Mush, sitting on Blink's other side, looked at his friend's plate critically. "You didn't put enough on, Blink," he noted seriously, indicating the pile of ketchup-covered pasta. A smile flickered at the corner of his lips, which blossomed into a full-blown laugh as Blink looked at him with his cheeks puffed out and a noodle hanging from his mouth. Mush's laugh caused Blink to laugh, which forced the mouthful of ketchupy spaghetti onto the poor boys sitting near him. Unfortunately, Spot was one of those boys. He grimaced in disgust as a red noodle hit his face. _This is going to be a long two weeks._

Race wolfed down his food as fast as he could without choking. Having five brothers and sisters around at home meant that the faster you ate, the less chance there was of having someone else eat it for you. When he finished, Race looked up to see Spot staring at him. He wrinkled his eyebrows questioningly at the other boy, who quickly glanced away, turning faintly red. _Why does he look guilty? _

Snitch, sitting next to him, did a double-take when he saw his friend's plate. "Dude!" he said, "Did you even taste that?"

Race shrugged. He hadn't, really. Food was for nourishment, not for taste, in his mind.

"I didn't think so." Snitch chuckled. "Anyway, I was going to ask you if you wanted to go down to waterfront after dinner. The guys and I want to, you know, visit our old haunts and stuff. You in?"

Race nodded. Just then, a tall woman walked through the double doors of the Dining Hall, two more campers in tow. Her brilliantly dyed blonde head stood far above anyone else's; she had to be at least 6' 4". It was obvious to Race that she was a dancer, as her cropped shorts reviled finely chiseled legs. Kloppman, eating with the nurse and some others at their own table, stood up and announced, "Everyone, this is Kaylee. She's a councilor for Rosewater cabin."

There was a polite smatter of applause from, Race assumed, the girls of Rosewater. Some boys in his own cabin applauded too.

Kloppman walked over to Kaylee and began to scan his clipboard, presumably looking for the names of the campers that she had brought it. After a while, he beckoned to the curly-haired man that had been distributing nametags and pointed at the paper. The man nodded and left the room. He came back shortly with two nametags, which the campers took and pinned to their shirts. One, a slightly attractive well-tanned girl with silky black hair, smiled at him. Race looked her over critically. _Nice legs, nice body. Cute hair, too. I could do without the skinny jeans, but whatever. _The man smiled back and resumed his seat.

Kaylee took the other camper and led her over to the Shelby girls' table, where she was greeted with hugs and squeals. The tanned girl walked behind Kloppman as he started down, unbelievably, Race's table, looking for Terrence. When the camp director found the councilor, who was sitting two people down from Race, he said, "Here's one of your campers. Diego, this is Terrence, your councilor."

_Diego? What the hell?_ Race couldn't help but stare openly. _Was I just checking out a dude?!_

"Hi!" said Diego brightly, flashing an award-winning smile. Terrence waved and nodded, as did some of the others. Race was still too dumbstruck to do anything.

Swifty, otherwise known as Erik, was not, however, too dumbstruck to do anything. He gaped openly at Diego, and squeaked, "Hey, uh, Diego. There's an open space here." He gestured at the place next to him, which was actually occupied by Specs. When Swifty noticed this, he glared and elbowed his bespectacled friend in the ribs to make him scoot over. Specs glared right back, but moved down the bench anyway. Diego grinned, again, and said, "Yay!" He practically bounced down the row of boys towards Swifty.

_Yay? _Race shook his head slightly to wake himself up. He caught Snitch's eyes and held back a laugh. Snitch leaned over and whispered, "He's new, but apparently someone knows him from somewhere. He, um, has been known to dress in drag before."

Race's jaw dropped and he clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle his burst of laughter. He glanced quickly in Diego's direction, but the boy was busy… petting Swifty's hair. _Yeah, petting Swifty. Wow. Well, it is drama camp. I can't expect everyone to be straight._ Just then, Race noticed that Spot was staring at him again.

Spot didn't know why he couldn't stop looking at Race. He wanted to think that it was just because Race was sitting across from him. And a little to the left. And a few people away. In his head, Spot slapped himself in the face. _Stop it. _

Besides, he had more fascinating things to stare at. Diego was sitting near him, and, if anything, the kid was hilarious to watch. Spot found himself struggling to keep a straight face at some of the dark-haired boy's lewd jokes. Already, though he had been at camp all of three minutes, Diego found himself fitting in nicely with everyone else. Swifty, especially, seemed to be getting along with him rather well. _Love-struck fags._ Spot rolled his eyes. But there was no amusement in the thought anymore. _What about Race and-_ He cut off the thought severely.

"So can we go now, Terry?" Skittery whined, looking at the clock near the door.

Terrence nodded after checking the time on his own watch. Skittery jumped up, grabbed his dishes, and went to put them near the dish-washing stations where hairnet-wearing assistants took them from him. A wave of other campers followed him, Spot among them. Skittery had asked him if he wanted to go down to the lake with the other boys of Highline. He had shrugged in reply and said, "Whatever." Inside, though, he was excited to see the lake.

The flood of boys raced out of the Dining Hall towards the trail leading to the waterfront area. Usually, the councilors didn't let the campers go down to the water by themselves, but Mush had assured Terrence that he had just finished lifeguard training before he came to camp. Terrence had looked torn, but he finally decided to let them go, just as long as they didn't tell anyone else.

The trail was steep and prickly, but the boys tore down it anyway, ignoring the thorns. Boots, being the fastest, arrived first. The others skidded to a halt behind him before starting cautiously out onto the dock.

Spot rolled his eyes. _What, do they think that it's going to break off and float away?_ He walked onto the creaky wood impatiently, his shoes making loud clomping noises.

"Spot!" Skittery hissed, "Shut up!"

"Why? There's no-one around to hear us."

"The Devil could be watching."

"What the hell?" Spot raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Pulitzer. He's the director, or at least he was last year. That's his cabin." Skittery pointed across to a ritzy-looking building near the shore. It was surrounded by trees, and looked quite comfortable. "He's supposed to share it with the other staff people that aren't councilors, but only Weasel stays there with him. Kloppman and the cooks have to stay somewhere else."

"And he's the Devil?"

Snitch stopped his creeping and came over to them. "Well, we're not really sure. He sure is a bastard, though."

"Yeah," Skittery said. "We don't really know why he keeps coming back."

Spot shrugged indifferently, yet stopped walking so heavily all the same.

The Highline campers stayed on and near the dock until they heard the bell ringing out. "Come on, guys." Specs called, getting to his feet from where he sat with Dutchy. "Time for auditions!"

"Auditions? Didn't we already do that?" Race was confused.

"Well, yeah, but these are to test you more thoroughly, now that you're here." Snitch said.

"Oh," answered Race.

"I don't get it either. At least we get a taste of what we'll be doing this year, huh?"

"We will?"

"Oh, right, I keep forgetting that this is your first year. So, basically, we go in to the Rehearsal Hall for, like, three hours, learn a song, learn a dance, and perform it in front of everybody else while the councilors take notes on us."

"Um, sounds fun?" Race didn't think that it sounded very fun at all.

Snitch must not have heard the questioning tone in Race's voice. "It totally is! It get's kind of boring near the end, but you get to listen to everyone else go first. After all, you'll probably be in the last set or so, because you're short."

Race almost bristled at that, but then he remembered that Snitch was a nice guy, and that he probably didn't mean it to be condescending. He decided not to say anything. "Oh, great!" Race tried to put some excitement into his voice.

By that time, the group had nearly reached the Rehearsal Hall. Race heard Mush mutter, "Soon, just the sight of this building will make you sore."

Race was going to comment, but before he could, a tall woman with long brown hair pointed at him and said, "Line up, tallest to shortest!"

The others didn't waste any time in following her order. Boots, who was also on the shorter side, followed Race. "That's Sarah," he said. "The dance captain. Her younger brother is a camper here. For some reason, they don't really like each other. Like, they used to, but something happened. Maybe something about her falling for one of his best friends, I'm not really sure."

"No talking!" An obnoxious-looking man walked past them, his skinny moustache barely covering his upper lip.

As soon as the man was gone, Boots said, "Go jump in the lake, Skunk."

"Skunk?" asked Race.

"Morris Delancey. He's one of the councilors of Granite cabin. We call him that because of his 'stache. Looks kind of like a reverse skunk stripe, don't you think?"

Race looked, and laughed. It did. Just then, the room became deadly silent. A tall, skinny bearded man strutted through the doors, followed closely by a shorter, chubbier one. _It must be the Devil and Weasel._ The tall man barked, "Count off, go!"

Luckily, the first camper in the line had been to camp before. "One!" he shouted.

The yell of 'Two!' didn't come quickly enough from the next person in line. Pulitzer shrieked, "Not good enough! Start over!" He waved his arms madly above his head.

"One!"

"Two!"

"Three!"

The numbers continued strongly until seventeen, who was a mousey girl with glasses. She nearly shrank into the wall as Pulitzer walked menacingly towards her. "Not quick enough! Again!"

So again they began. This time, the count reached forty-two before it fell apart. The campers had to repeat the count-off six more times before Pulitzer was happy with it. Race, who was number one-hundred three of one-hundred twenty-two, wiped sweat off of his brow. _God, I'm already sweating and we haven't even been here ten minutes._

Pulitzer, with Weasel in tow, stalked out of the building. Almost immediately, campers began turning to each other and talking. Medda, the vocal teacher, stood in the middle of the room and clapped for attention. "Everyone! Everyone! Settle down!"

Slowly, the voices died. Medda smiled. "That's better. Now, that was our director. He, uh, can be a bit short-tempered, so be on your best behavior when he works with you. Now, since everyone is here, let's begin camp by introducing ourselves. Starting with number one, I want everyone to say their name, first and last, their age, and where they're from, okay? Start!"

A tall boy with a Southern accent began. "I'm R.J. Corrings. I'm sixteen, and I'm from Fairfield, Alabama."

"Sam Tayne, sixteen, Cedarburg, Wisconsin."

"Sylvia Gore, fifteen, Seattle, Washington."

"Zeke Jameson, sixteen, Phoenix, Arizona." There was Skittery.

The names went on for a while after that. Race took note of the boys in his cabin when they introduced themselves, and tried to keep their names straight. When it came to him, Race stepped forward and said, "Antony Higgins, fifteen, New York, New York."

When he stepped back, Boots whispered to him, "That wasn't hard, was it? Next you'll have to say it with more emotion."

And he was right. Medda had them go around again, this time replacing their names with their nicknames and saying it with more gusto and bravado.

When the names were done, Medda and some of the councilors divided the campers into three smaller groups, where they were whisked off to separate areas of the camp and taught a song. Race's group, which included Snitch, Specs, Swifty, Diego, Boots, and Spot, was headed by Medda herself. Their group went up to the registration room, which would double as an extra rehearsal space, as Medda told them, and filtered inside.

Once they were settled, Medda said, "So, we're going to learn 'You're The One I Want' from… can anyone tell me?"

Swifty and Diego looked at each other and screamed, "Grease!" They began to jump up and down with joy, clapping their hands.

The group spent nearly an hour learning and polishing the song before returning to the Rehearsal Hall. They were then arranged in rows and sat down on the stage. If one could call it a stage, Race thought. It was the most uncomfortable, splintery, rough piece of wood that he had ever had to sit on for an extended period of time.

After a few hours, Race could barely keep his eyes open. He had yet to sing what he had learned, as he was in the last row of people, and he had stopped listening to the others about four rows ago. After Spot had sang. _Why do I keep thinking about that prick? _Race rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands and glanced outside. It was nearly pitch black, and he couldn't see a thing. It had to be nearly ten-thirty, and he had been up since six that morning.

Boots, still sitting next to him, yawned widely. "Only a few more people until it's our turn," he murmured.

"Yeah," answered Race, reply muffled by a yawn of his own.

"Then we get to sleep," Boots said, smiling faintly.

"I can't wait."

"Me neither."

The number of campers left to sing dwindled until it was time for Race to stand up. He dragged himself to his feet with a mixture of regret and excitement. Race was near the middle of the row, so he settled down again until his time to sing came. Medda, leading the song and listening to the campers' voices, got nearer and nearer to him. Then she was right there. She nodded to him.

"You're the one that I want," he sang. "Ooh, ooh, ooh." His voice rang out strongly in the silence of the Rehearsal Hall.

"The one that I want. Ooh, ooh, ooh. The one that I want. Ooh, ooh, ooh. The one I need, oh yes indeed." The last note trailed off. Race waited, he didn't know what for, but Medda said nothing. She just moved on to Boots next to him.

Race felt a little awkward, like someone was staring at him. He scanned the crowd of campers, but mostly people were staring at their hands or feet in front of them, eyes glazed with tiredness. There was only one looking his way.

Spot couldn't help but stare. He had been caught completely off guard by Race's voice. He hadn't been expecting it at all, and he was pleasantly surprised. Then he realized that Race was looking at him. He blushed, and looked away quickly.

_Snap out of it. You. Like. Girls. Dumbass._ Spot found a splinter of wood near him and picked it up, searching for a distraction. He turned it over absently, and jerked back when it stabbed his finger. _Damn wood. _He threw it down again.

After Race, there were only four more people to sing. When they were done, Medda consulted briefly with the councilors that had been following her around and taking notes. Then she turned back to the campers and said, "Everybody did great. Wake up bell is at seven tomorrow morning. Get some rest; we have a big day ahead of us!" Everyone roused themselves enough to leap to their feet and run out of the Rehearsal Hall. Spot drifted towards Highline, his path lit by dim lights from the Dining Hall's porch. When he arrived, his legs freshly scratched by the thorny path, he pushed open the door weakly and stumbled towards his room. Dutchy, Specs, and Snitch were already there, silently removing clothing and tossing it onto their suitcases. Without a word, Spot did the same, and crawled into his sleeping bag. He fell asleep without another thought.


	3. Day Two, Part One

**Day Two, Part One**

The morning bell rang far too early. Spot groaned and covered his face with his sleeping bag. He could hear the faint scuffling noises as his cabin-mates pulled on various bits of clothing and shuffling out the door, but his body ached from the late night and the pounding of the chorus of 'You're the One I Want' inside his head made it ache too.

Diego, in the bed above Spot's, bounced and shook the entire bunk. "Up! Up! Up!" He said with each bounce. Spot took a deep breath, trying to contain his murderous feelings, and pushed his covers away.

As soon as Spot's feet touched the floor, Diego leaped off of his bunk and latched on to a beam on the ceiling. Swifty, watching admiringly from the bottom bed of another bunk, called up, "Wouldn't it be great if that beam spun?"

Diego giggled like a schoolgirl and said, "Oh, Swifty, darling, you have no idea."

Spot felt a sneer coming on at the word 'darling'. _Wow. Talk about quick relationship-building. _He stuffed his feet into slippers and tugged on a sweatshirt. Then he shuffled out of the cabin, following the line of boys going to the Dining Hall for coffee.

The morning air was colder than Spot expected, and he huddled inside his sweatshirt. He could see many people scattered around the clearing that was the open foyer of the camp. The tall pine trees around the camp moved slightly in the breeze, and there were white-capped waves scattered across the lake. _All in all, a pretty picturesque place, I'd say. That is, if you're into that sort of thing._

Spot stumbled through the Dining Hall doors, and straight into someone standing peacefully in line for coffee. The person looked up, startled, and Spot realized that he had just crashed into Race. "Oh, um, sorry," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Race furrowed his brows. "No problem." He turned back to the counter. "Just give me half a cup," he mumbled. The woman smiled and gave it to him.

Spot breathed a silent sigh of relief when Race had to look away to get his coffee. _What about him makes me so nervous? Do I- _even inside his head, Spot couldn't finish the thought.

After everyone had gotten their coffee, they exited the Dining Hall to sit on the wide porch outside. At least half of the camp was up and about now, grudgingly walking away from their warm cabins. This meant that, though most of the other boys of Highline weren't there, very few seats were available. In fact, the only open seat that Spot saw was right next to Race. _Dammit. God, I officially hate you now. _Inwardly wincing, Spot crossed the porch and sat down beside Race. Race didn't move or speak, and for that Spot was glad. He didn't want the seating arrangements to be made more awkward than they already were by forcing a conversation.

Everyone sipped their coffee in near silence, with only the occasional question or observation puncturing the morning air. Nobody noticed when Kloppman emerged from his own cabin and began to walk towards the bell. At the first clang, nearly every assembled camper jumped out of their skin. It took Spot a second to identify the noise and to react to it. _Bell equals circle places_. His feet seemed to move of their own tired accord, and soon he found himself standing with the other Highline boys, next to Blink on one side and Swifty on the other. Slouching, Spot closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Blink turned to him.

"Hey, Spot. How'd you sleep?"

Spot shrugged. "Eh, good enough, I guess."

Blink nodded. "Yeah, me too." He paused. "Not as well as I'd hoped though." He trailed off, leaving an obvious question in the air. Spot took the bait.

"Oh, that sucks. Why?" He rolled his eyes when Blink looked guiltily away.

"I was, er, a little preoccupied." Blink's gaze rested on Mush. They smiled shyly at each other when their eyes met.

_I'm going to hurl. _"Ah, I get you." The last thing Spot would have ever told Blink, or anyone else, for that matter, was that he felt exactly the same way.

Race rubbed his eyes tiredly with one hand. He was confused, and a little scared. The only person that had ever made him feel this way before, a feeling that he didn't even have a name for, had been Marcia Crouch in the fifth grade. She had been short, shorter than him, and had sandy blonde hair that was cropped to her ears and stuck out in clumps. No other boy had seemed to like her, and Race felt weird whenever he talked about her to his friends. He had dreamt about her last night, or at least he thought he had. It wasn't the same person, though. The one in his dream had seemed familiar to him, but it was as if he had just met --- Race gasped as the pieces fell into place. _Oh no. Not him, no, no, no. He looks like Marcia! Ahh! _Now he realized why the dream-Marcia hadn't looked the same. Her hair had grown a little and instead of sticking out, it was straight and smooth. Spot's hair. His dream-Marcia was Spot.

"Hey, Race? You okay?" Boots, standing next to him, tapped him on the shoulder. "You seem off this morning. You tired?"

_Tired? Ha! As if I could be tired now, what with me questioning not only my sexuality but the very ideals that I've been taught by both my parents and my religion! _"Yeah, I'm tired. It feels like we just went to sleep, you know?"

Boots yawned in answer. "Uh huh. You'd better get used to it. The first night's always the worst, though."

Race nodded distractedly and looked away. Kloppman stood in the center of the circle, holding his clipboard. He began the morning by giving the day's schedule. "All right, everybody. Breakfast will begin in just a few minutes, and then you have half an hour before rehearsal starts to clean up your cabins. After rehearsal is lunch. I'll tell you the rest of the day then, okay? Right then, first is Highline!"

It took Race a moment to remember that he was in Highline. Slowly he walked up the steps with his cabinmates and got in line for breakfast, which this morning was French toast. He didn't really like French toast, but he was hungry, so he took three slices.

After getting a glass of orange juice and a banana from further down the line, Race went across the Dining Hall to sit by Skittery and Boots. They were discussing the theme of the show this year, which happened to be historical musicals.

"I wonder if we'll do Rent this year. I mean, that's historical, right?" Skittery said. "The AIDS epidemic gave rise to a whole bunch of stuff. We can't just leave it out."

"It depends on how thorough we're going to be. If we're doing Children of Eden, which I know that we are, we can't go from the beginning of time to the present in two hours." Boots answered between bites of his apple.

Skittery snorted. "Of course we can. We don't do very many songs from each, so, really, who knows? I hope that we do something from 1776." He grinned and shouted, "But I burn, Mr. A!"

Boots grinned too, and responded with, "So do I, Mr. J!"

Skittery laughed and threw his arm over Boots' shoulder, and the two swayed back and forth on the bench singing 'Sit Down, John'. Race didn't know 1776 very well, but he liked the song.

"I, for one," interjected Blink, "hope that we do something from Jesus Christ Superstar. I love that thing!" He and Mush, along with most of the cabin, burst into a chorus of 'Superstar', and did various disco moves. Race joined into it, as well, being Catholic and therefore familiar with the story. Jesus Christ Superstar was the first musical he had ever attended at his local theatre.

"I don't care what we do, as long as we do Spamalot. We couldn't possibly leave that out." The voice came from Specs, far down at the end of the table, and his words were met with a murmur of assent.

"No way could that be left out." Snitch agreed.

"Well, if we did Camelot instead…" Skittery began. But he never finished, for at that moment the wide doors of the Dining Hall opened and a medium-sized man, along with two campers, came in. The man was rather unremarkable, not like Kaylee the dancer chick had been, except for the enormous and incredibly hideous bowtie under his chin.

"Denton!" Boots shouted in greeting. He turned to Race, "Hey, Race, that's our councilor, Bryan Denton. Try to ignore the bowtie; we do. He's awesome!"

Denton looked around to see who had called him, and smiled at Boots when he figured it out. He did look nice enough, Race thought. _Except for that bowtie. Sheesh. What did he do, cut up his bachelor couch for it? _

Race tore his attention from the bowtie to see the new campers. They were both boys, older boys, which probably meant that they were in his cabin. There were two empty bunks in the Race's room that they could use. One was taller, and had straight brown hair that fell into his eyes. He had an amused half smile on his face, and he walked confidently past the stares of the other campers. The other one, though, was nearly the opposite. This one was slightly shorter, and had curly hair and bright blue eyes that Race could see even from across the room. He was well-dressed, compared to everyone else, and seemed nervously aware of it. He nearly stumbled into the other new camper when all three of them stopped in front of Kloppman's table.

Denton smiled and put his hand on the curly-haired one's shoulder. Race saw him say something to Kloppman before leading both new campers over to their table. "Hi, everyone," he said when they arrived. "This is Jack." Denton indicated the taller one. "And David. They just got here and I'm sure you'll make them feel welcome. Oh, and I'm Bryan, your councilor." Denton smiled again and walked away to get his own breakfast.

Race and his fellow Highliners nodded at the new arrivals. _Jack equals straight hair, David equals curly. I need to remember that. _Jack sat down immediately, on the other side of the table from Skittery. David, still looking nervous, followed suit and sank onto the bench next to him. "So," said Jack, "The name's Jack Kelly, like Denton said. I'm new here, and I've been acting for, oh, let's say, ten years. And this here's Davey."

David smiled meekly. "Yeah, I'm David Jacobs. I -"

"Hold on," Swifty interrupted, egged on by Diego. "Jacobs? Isn't that Sarah's last name, too? Dance captain Sarah?"

"She's my sister. We're, uh, well, we aren't that close anymore." David looked awkwardly at Jack, who laughed loudly.

"That's one way to say it, Davey. She and I had a thing once. A very _close _thing." Jack grinned, and winked.

David blushed a brilliant crimson. "I thought you said that you wouldn't bring that up, Jack," he muttered.

"You never said I couldn't if someone asked me."

"Nobody asked you! You just blurted it out!"

"I don't _blurt, _Dave."

"You do too! You just did!"

Race had to cough to hide his amusement, and he wasn't the only one. All around the table, his cabinmates were hiding their mouths with their hands or finding excuses to get up in order to pull themselves together. Race joined them, grabbing his dishes and walking out of the Dining Hall. Snitch caught up to him when they were outside. "So, you liking camp so far, Race?" he asked.

Race nodded. "Yeah, it's fun. I kinda want to go to rehearsal, though, because I want to know what we're doing."

"Everyone always wants to know. I like the surprise of not knowing."

"Hmmm," Race said. They walked in silence for a few steps. "So, what's the deal with cleaning our cabins?"

Snitch grinned. "Well, it's not just cleaning. We have themes, see, and we decorate our cabins according to the themes. Every cabin chooses what to do, and every day you have to do something different. Marci, the nurse, goes around the cabins during rehearsal with her son. They -"

"Wait, Marci's son?" Race was confused.

"Oh, yeah. His name's Patrick," Snitch explained. "Red head, short, yeah, you'll see him around. Everyone calls him Snipeshooter, though, because he has a slingshot and he brings it here. He shoots berries at us sometimes. It's harmless, but he can get kind of annoying. Oscar and Morris hate that kid. Oscar especially. Nobody knows why." He shrugged.

"Oh, okay. Anyway, you were saying?"

"Right, themes. Usually the theme is like a show or something. I think that ours is Phantom of the Opera today. You know it?"

_Like anyone that came to drama camp didn't know Phantom of the Opera. _"Yeah, of course I know Phantom!" Race said. "But what are we doing, exactly? And does the cabin still need to be cleaned?"

"Uh huh. Marci and Snipe give us points based on cleanliness and creativity. Then Kloppman announces the scores at evening Circle, right before dinner. Whichever cabin has the most points at the end of camp wins. Last year the prize was no camp-cleaning duty and donuts for breakfast. Sunset won." Snitch shrugged again. "But, you know, it's all about having fun."

By then, Race and Snitch had arrived at the cabin. Boots was already inside, sweeping the floor with an ancient-looking broom. He looked up as the screen door slammed shut. "Oh good. Snitch, can you go help Skitts and Blink set up the boat? And Race, Mush, Itey, Specs, and Spot are covering all the windows. I think they need another person." He went back to sweeping.

Race felt his face flush. _Jesus, I can't get away from him, can I? _

Across the room, Spot, who had heard Boots clearly, frowned as if he was thinking the same thing.

The rehearsal bell rang promptly at nine o'clock. Spot and the rest of his cabin went hurriedly down the gently sloping hill to the Rehearsal Hall. Highline cabin was thoroughly Phantom-ed, complete with a paper mask, an underground river, and mirrors. Skittery had said that he was happy with it, and that they were sure to get bonus points for being so creative so early on in the camp.

When they arrived in the Rehearsal building, nearly everyone was already there. Spot jogged over to his place in the line, clutching his water bottle and pinning his nametag to the front of his shirt. There was a clump of people in the center of the circle, looking around anxiously. Spot recognized Jack and David. _Ah, the newcomers. I don't envy them._ Just then, Medda, the voice instructor, walked in. She smiled, her garishly colored tie-dye dress floating freely around her body. Its pinks and oranges clashed with her unnatural red hair. She stood in the center of the circle with the new arrivals, hands on her hips and heels together, and said loudly, "Hello campers! What's new?"

A cheer erupted from the older people in the Hall. Apparently this was another tradition that had been left out of the explanation of camp that Spot had received. He shrugged inwardly and clapped awkwardly a few times.

Medda laughed and smiled again. "Well then, let's start off the day with some vocal warm-ups. From there, you will divide into your rehearsal groups. One group will stay here with Sarah and do some stretches and the like. The other will go with Denton and do mental activities to sharpen your focus. Now, repeat after me: _Mommy made me mash my M&M's. _Go!"

The entire Rehearsal Hall echoed Medda's scale. They went on to breath work ("The feet hit the street while the flowers gained power, the trees hid their fleas, and the clouds shouted loud-ly!", said as strongly as possible without hurting the voice and with only one breath), diction warm-ups, which to Spot were just tongue twisters, and, as Medda said, an 'exploration of the ranges of your young voices'.

Spot's group, which now included David and Jack, was the first to go with Sarah to stretch. Spot had overheard the conversation at breakfast saying that Sarah was David's older sister, and that Jack and Sarah had once been "involved". _She must not be as old as she looks. _Spot surveyed Sarah with narrowed eyes. _Although she does look fairly old. _He smirked at his own thought.

After they stretched, the group went outside with Denton. He arranged them in a loose circle and said, "All right, everyone. We are here to sharpen your focus, as Medda mentioned, and also to get to know each other. Those of you that have been here before may remember this, and those of you that are new will not soon forget it." He grinned around at them. "Anyway, I want you to all get a partner."

There was a minor scramble as people hurried to stand next to their friends. David and Jack, standing next to each other in the circle anyway, didn't move at all. Race, to Spot's great surprise, walked up to him with his head down and muttered, "Wanbempartner?"

"Huh?"

Race looked up. "I asked if you wanted to be my partner," he said. His eyes were almost angry, as if he were daring Spot to say "Hell no, freak.".

Spot couldn't believe his luck. Before he could stifle the thoughts, they flashed through his mind. _Holy crap, he's actually talking to me! What should I say, what should I say?! Dammit, stop acting like a 7__th__ grade girl. You know what to say. _"Uh, sure." _Gah, why did you say it like that?! You're supposed to say 'Oh, God, yes. I love you Antony 'Racetrack' Higgins! _Even inside his head the thought was so ridiculous that Spot had to laugh. Immediately he regretted ever making a sound, as a hurt look crossed Race's face. "Oh, uh," Spot mumbled, "I wasn't laughing at you."

Race nodded, but couldn't answer as Denton had begun to speak again. "Does everyone have a partner? Good. Now, I want you to stand face-to-face with your partner and put your hands up so that the palms of your hands are facing the palms of your partners' hands. Everyone understand?" There was a general grunt of agreement. "All right then. I'm sure that most of you have done this before. It's called Mirroring."

Spot had identified it just as they put their hands up. By the look on his face, Race had too.

"Excellent! So, everyone knows what to do?" Another grunt sounded. "Then let's go!" Denton took a step back to watch them.

Spot and Race made good partners. Each movement was mirrored exactly, and both, though neither would admit it, enjoyed the time to look at the other. Spot noticed Race's worry lines, his dark brown eyes. Race couldn't tear his eyes away Spot's hair and muscular arms. They were nearly the same height. Both of them were slightly disappointed, though neither would admit it, when Denton told them to stop.

As the group filed down into the Rehearsal Hall again, Spot and Race walked side by side. They only separated to go to their circle places.

The rehearsal itself wasn't nearly as fun as Race had expected. Everyone was taught a simple dance routine and made to perform it in front of everyone else. Race was an okay dancer, due to his four years of tap class, and did all right. He winced, though, when Spot had to go. It was obvious that his cabinmate had never really danced before, and though Spot retained his smirk the entire time, Race hoped that he would improve by show time.

The campers were separated into their groups again, this time to learn different songs. Race's group learned 'Generations' from Children of Eden, and by the time lunch came, Race thought that he would never get the tune out of his mind. _Well, you thought the same after you sang 'You're the One that I Want', and you got that out of your head, didn't you? _Of course, as soon as he thought of it, the song returned and mixed with Generations. Race rolled his eyes at himself and rubbed his temples, as if trying to force the songs away. It didn't work, and Race found himself stepping in time to the catchy rhythm of the Grease song.

The lunch bell rang right after noon. The entire camp rushed up the hill to the Dining Hall and got in line. It took almost fifteen minutes before Race, who was near the end, got food. Finally he took his tray and sat down at the Highline table, between Jack and Spot. The latter shot a tentative smile at him, and he returned it. _Maybe we will go somewhere. Shit, I hope so. _At that, Race almost choked on his potato salad. _I just swore! I, the Catholic boy, just swore! Even in my head that sounded wrong. God, please forgive -_ Race smothered the thought. _Well, with all that I've been thinking recently, swearing is the least important reason that I'll be going to hell. _


	4. Day Two, Part Two

**A/N: So sorry for the uber-long hiatus from this, guys. I'm getting back into writing in general, this in particular. You'll be seeing more of Camp!Newsies in the very near future, I promise you. Enjoy!**

**Day Two, Part Two**

Spot hissed his breath out between his teeth and flopped onto his other side in the narrow bunk. The repetitious looping of Jesus Christ Superstar's theme song was keeping him from having a restful quiet time like the rest of his cabin mates. All around the room, snores and the gentle scratching of pens across letter paper as boys wrote home reached Spot's ears, but inside his head, quasi-religious disco-style music blared loudly. Spot sighed and closed his eyes, trying to block the notes from his mind.

After a few minutes of tense thinking, a new song forced its way past the chorus of Superstar into Spot's brain. Spot's eyes flew open and he groaned inwardly. _Total Eclipse of the Heart is not an acceptable replacement song, _he snarled to himself. His hands curled into fists as he pictured Bethany James, his ex-girlfriend and the girl who had forced this song into his ears countless times. _I can't believe I let myself date her. She treated me like a pile of dogshit. _Spot rolled his eyes. _She was hot, though. _

But even in his head, the image of Bethany James was not as attractive as he remembered. Her shining blonde hair, so neatly dyed to hide the plain brown roots, was strangely lackluster, and instead of the blue eyes he always thought of, hers had been replaced by deep brown ones. Eyes that looked new to him, that were unfamiliar and yet as recognizable to him as the eyes of his own mother. With an uncomfortable jolt in his stomach, Spot realized that he had changed the eyes of his ex-girlfriend with the eyes of Racetrack Higgins.

_That's it. _Spot sat up in his bunk and swore at it mentally as the old wooden slats creaked loudly. _I've had enough of thinking about Racetrack Higgins. I need to get to the bottom of this, immediately. _He stared determinately at the faded blue cover of his sleeping bag. _I'll talk to him before rehearsal, _Spot promised himself, _and then I'll be done with it. With him. _

Even as he thought it, Spot wondered what he would say to the boy who continued to infiltrate his every waking moment. He snorted with angry amusement as he pictured the conversation. _Oh hey, do you think about me all the time? _

_Of course I do. You're attractive._

_Well that's good, because so are you._

_Thanks. Want to go make out?_

_I thought you'd never ask._

With a sigh both frustrated and cheerless, Spot sank down onto his back on his bunk and laced his fingers behind his head. _It's only the second day of this camp. If I don't sort this out, it's going to be hanging over my head for twelve more days. _His eyes moved of their own accord to Race's bunk, where the object of Spot's musings lay on his side with his eyes closed and headphones in, one hand wedged under his chin and the other hanging off the side of the bed. Spot watched Race's side rise and fall with his breathing for a few heartbeats, then turned away with a disgusted scowl creasing his brow. _Stop it. Stop looking at him. _

But Spot knew in his heart that even if he confronted his cabin mate about his feelings and was completely shot down, the attraction to the short Italian-American from New York would remain as a lump in his throat and a flutter in his stomach long after the encounter, and perhaps the whole camp, ended.

The song on Race's iPod changed to a slow, lilting church hymn, and Race opened his eyes to skip it with a sharp jab of one finger on the button. The iPod was a gift from his father's sister when he turned fifteen, and he was the only one of his siblings to own one. He was intensely proud of it, though it was an older model, and even though his mother had tried multiple times to get him to leave it at home, he had brought it with him. As the song switched to the upbeat synthesizer riff of Billy Joel's The Entertainer, Race was glad that he hadn't listened to his mother and had tucked it away in his duffel bag.

"_I am the entertainer, and I know just where I stand…" _Race listened to the lyrics, and his mind jumped immediately to his recent encounter with Spot. _I don't know where I stand with him, _Race thought, confusion and frustration furrowing his eyebrows above his closed brown eyes. _I need to stop thinking about him, though. _

Race wasn't good at keeping secrets. All his life, he had gotten into trouble with his friends and siblings because of his inability to keep quiet about the things they told him that weren't for other people to know about. After awhile, they had stopped telling him their hidden thoughts and feelings. He had never had a secret of his own. Now the feelings brewing in his heart and mind had a tinge of secrecy to them, as if they were something to be kept hidden from the light of day and buried beneath other thoughts. As if they were something to be ashamed of. Race frowned, disgusted with himself for thinking such things. But as he probed deeper into his mind, he realized that he wasn't sure if he was disgusted with the actual feelings themselves or the attitude of his friends and family if they ever found out that he had considered kissing, among other things, another boy.

The song changed again, but Race barely noticed. He was absorbed in his own musings about Spot. _Well, I can't do anything until I figure some stuff out for myself, _he resolved. _And I certainly can't tell Spot anything. _Race shot a furtive glance at Spot out of the corner of his eye, and saw that his piercing blue eyes were closed and his brow was creased in concentration, hands folded behind his sandy-haired head. _I can't tell him anything yet._

The clanging of the bell from the center of the camp startled Race from his thoughts, and he jerked upright and swung his legs over the side of the bunk quickly, pulling his headphones from his ears. The other Highline boys woke up yawning or finished up their letters and began to leave their bunks as well. Skittery, across the room from Race on the lower bunk, had his head covered by his plaid pillow, but was reaching out with his right hand, searching for his Converse. Boots, above him, was awake and shoving a piece of folded paper into an envelope.

"Rise and shine, campers," a voice called through the doorway into the bunk room. Race turned his head to see Denton, their councilor, with his garishly colored bowtie clinging to his throat. "Highline Cabin meeting in two minutes!"

Skittery groaned and mumbled something, his words muffled by the pillow.

"I can't understand you, Skittery," Denton said patiently.

Skittery pushed his pillow away from his face and propped himself up with one elbow. "I said, I thought there weren't going to be any more Highline Cabin meetings this year."

"Well, Terry and I decided that they did more good than bad, so we kept them."

With another groan, Skittery rolled to his feet. As Denton left the room, Race asked, "What's a Highline Cabin meeting?"

Blink, from his top bunk beside Skittery's, answered. "It's Denton's way of greeting us. He goes over the schedule and we plan out what we're going to do for cabin clean-up and stuff." He lowered his voice to a stage-whisper. "In case you couldn't tell, Skittery doesn't really like them."

"They're so stupid!" Skittery growled, tightening the laces on his high-tops with an angry tug. "None of the other cabins do them, and they get along just fine. Sunset won cabin clean-up last year without meetings."

Blink and Mush smirked at each other, and as Skittery pushed out of the room, still grumbling to himself, Blink leapt down from his bunk and walked over to Race. "We think he's just mad that Denton schedules them during canteen, so he can't get him daily dose of sugar in before rehearsal."

Race joined Blink's laughter. "So, we're missing canteen now? What's that?"

"Snack-time, basically." Blink signaled to Mush, who threw a pair of tennis shoes across the room to him. The blonde boy sat down on the edge of Race's bunk and began to tie them. "And time to mail letters and see if you have any mail."

Race nodded in understanding, and looked around for his own shoes. While he glanced around, he accidently caught Spot's eye from the other's bottom bunk. Race felt a flush rise to his face and he quickly looked away to grab hi shoes from where they sat by his suitcase. It didn't take long for him to pull them on, and then he, Blink, and Mush left the bunk room to meet in the center of the cabin with the others.

When everyone had assembled, Race noted that Spot was one of the last to show up, Denton cleared his throat and opened his green folder. "Okay, everyone. Welcome to the first Highline Cabin meeting of the year. Expect one of these every day around this time. Yes, yes, I know, Skittery. You're just going to have to deal with it." Denton smiled good-naturedly at the dour-looking Skittery, who scowled in return. "It's now about 1:40 in the afternoon," Denton continued, as if he hadn't seen Skittery's scowl. "In twenty minutes, the afternoon rehearsal bell will ring. After that, you have waterfront down at the lake. That's swimming time, for those of you who haven't been here before," Denton added, seeing the confused look on many of the campers' faces. "Then it's dinner, followed by activity time, evening rehearsal, and then bed. Everyone got that?"

There was a general murmur of understanding, and Denton smiled briefly. "Then that's the first order of business taken care of. Now let's talk about cabin clean-up for tomorrow. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

Race folded his arms against his chest and thought. The only thing that came to his mind, though, was Spot. He frowned angrily, disappointed in himself, and shook his head to clear it. By then, though, someone had already answered Denton's question.

"I think we should do a garage theme," Snitch said, sitting up from where he had been slouching in a large armchair. "Like with cars and motorcycles and stuff like that."

"Garage as in mechanic?" Denton asked.

Snitch turned his head slightly to the side, confused. "Yeah," he said, but the look in his eyes clearly read, "Obviously, as that's what I just said." Race stifled a snort of laughter.

"I like it," Denton stated. The other Highline boys nodded their approval. "So tomorrow's theme is Garage/Mechanic. Good." Denton glanced at his watch. "We've a few minutes before the rehearsal bell rings. I suggest that you all make your way down to the hall so that you can fill your water bottles before the crowd lines up. If you have any letters that need to be mailed, you can give them to either Terry or myself, and we'll see to it that they're sent off. If you got any mail today, we'll get it for you and it'll be waiting after rehearsal in here."

Many of Race's cabin mates raced off to get letters that they had written, and Race himself left with a group of his friends to the rehearsal hall, after grabbing his nametag and water bottle. The group walked down to the large water dispensers set up in front of the building and began to fill their water bottles one at a time. He was uncomfortably aware of Spot's presence just a few steps behind him, and he felt his heartbeat quicken as Spot caught up with him, abandoning his place in line to come and stand beside him.

"Hey, Race."

The two simple words went straight to Race's stomach, making it twist in on itself. He took a deep breath to settle it, but it didn't work. "Hey," he managed to answer, willing his voice not to shake.

Race must have succeeded, because Spot went on as if he hadn't heard. "So, uh, I was wondering…"

Spot trailed off, scowling at the ground and tossing his empty water bottle from one hand to the other. Just then, the bell clanged loudly again, signaling the start of rehearsal. Spot swore under his breath and forced his way through the quickly-assembling crowd inside the hall to his place in the circle-up. Race stared blankly after him, not noticing that Skittery in front of him had finished filling his water bottle until Mush bumped him from behind, startling him. "Oh, sorry," Race mumbled, stepping up to the dispenser.

After the water sloshed to the top of the container, Race moved back and went inside, squeezing through the crowd to his place. He caught sight of Spot leaning against the wall, and made a split-second decision. Steeling himself, and repeating internally that it was just a friendly thing to do, Race made his way up to Spot and said, "Hey, do you want me to fill your water bottle for you? The line's not that long."

Spot leveled his sharp blue gaze at him. "Thanks, but I'll be fine."

Race flushed, but tried to hide it with a shrug. "All right. It's just a friendly thing to do, you know." Immediately, he wanted to take the words back.

Spot lifted his eyebrows slightly. "Yeah, real friendly." Race couldn't look away from his burning blue eyes, as much as he tried.

The sudden hush that fell over the rest of the campers indicated the arrival of Pulitzer, and Race, with a small good-bye wave to Spot, his face still blazing crimson, started back to his circle-up space, grateful for the director's timely entrance. Pulitzer's yells to get in line and shut up forced Race into the here and now, temporarily erasing any thought of potential forbidden relationships from his mind. The rest of the rehearsal passed without another opportunity to talk, or avoid, Spot, and Race didn't see him again until the camp broke for waterfront two and a half hours later.


	5. Day Two, Part Three

**A/N: This one's a longer chapter, but it was fun to write. I'll be off to drama camp on Saturday (yay!), so who knows what else I'll experience that will make it to this story? Thanks for keeping up with this, those of you who have waited patiently for me to update!**

**Day Two, Part Three**

Race walked quickly and quietly down the steeply sloping path to the dock, where the sound of small waves lapping at the pebbled shore and the laughter of his fellow campers wafted to him on a gentle breeze. His towel, patchy and faded, hung from his arm and moved lightly back and forth with the cadence of his movement. It was quiet enough for the moment that Race could hear the creaking of the huge pine trees around him as they swayed with the wind, so unlike the towering skyscrapers of New York. But Race wasn't listening to the trees or the lake or his friends; his mind was turning circles on itself, yelling at him, desperately trying to make him think about his encounter with Spot before rehearsal had begun.

_Since when does Spot offer to fill other peoples' water bottles? _Race kept asking himself. _That seems so unlike him. _But Race's churning thoughts reminded him that, in all honesty, he didn't know the boy now referred to as Spot Conlon. He hadn't even been around him for two whole days yet. _I act like I should know this guy. How could I possibly know him, and, conversely, how could he know me?_ Race clenched his fists and tightened his jaw against the sudden rush of anger, willing himself to remain calm and not scream his frustrations to the sky as he longed to do.

It took another moment before Race realized that he had stopped in the middle of the path, and only the sound of another person's footsteps alerted him. From the direction of the camp came David and Jack, Race's newest cabinmates. It was clear that the two had just been in some sort of argument, as David hung back from Jack's side and his brow was creased heavily. Jack's mouth was a hard line, and his eyes were narrowed. Both pulled up sharply when they saw Race.

"Oh, heya, Race," Jack said, immediately snapping into the cheerful mood that Race had come to associate with him.

David wasn't as easily distracted from their fight. "Hello," he said stiffly, nodding and then transferring his burning blue gaze to the back of Jack's head again, as if trying to bore a hole through it with the mere power of his anger.

"Hey guys." Race greeted them as naturally as he could, but his words sounded odd and forced to his own ears. "How was your rehearsal?" By the look that flashed over both of their faces, he knew that he had asked the wrong question.

"Oh, it was _fine. _Just _perfect,_" David hissed, speaking more to Jack than to Race.

"I'm not talking about that here!" Jack growled, balling his fists and scowling darkly at the tops of the trees, at the ground, anywhere but David's face.

Race couldn't believe his bad luck. "It's okay," he interjected, feeling guilty for bringing up a tender subject. "Sorry I said anything."

A few tense heartbeats passed while the wills of David and Jack crashed invisibly. Finally, suddenly, the stress in the air dissolved. "Oh, don't worry," Jack said, smiling. "We'll talk about it… later, right, Davey?" He looked at David for the first time since Race had seen them.

"Yeah." David nodded again. "Later."

"So, are you heading down to the dock?" Jack asked Race, changing the subject much to the latter's relief.

Race paused for a moment before answering. What he really wanted was to be alone, and to not think about anything. He knew that if he said yes, Jack and David would accompany him and he wouldn't get away from them until dinner. "Actually," he said, "I'm just heading up to shower."

David and Jack exchanged a quick glance, obviously noting Race's conspicuously dry hair, but didn't press him. "Oh, all right," said Jack pleasantly. "See you later, then."

"See you," Race responded, waving them down the path. After they disappeared through the trees, he had no choice but to turn around and head back to the main camp area. He had been planning to shower after his swim, but the more he thought about it the better it seemed to do it now. Race turned down the narrow path leading to Highline to grab a change of clothes and his shampoo before heading back up to the bathroom building.

As he approached the bathrooms, Race heaved a sigh of relief. From the outside, the bathrooms looked deserted. He couldn't hear the running any showers or sinks. He paused in front of the door, shifting his things to his other arm and reaching for the door handle. Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal Spot, his sandy hair damp and his eyes opened wide with surprise.

_Shit shit shit shit shit! _Race scrambled to regain his composure. Luckily for him, Spot spoke first. "Oh, sorry, Race," he said, running his hand nonchalantly through his wet hair and trying to act natural.

Race shrugged, feeling awkward. "No big deal," he muttered. Spot made no intention of moving out of Race's way, but just stood with the bathroom door open, staring at him. "So, umm…" Race said, attempting to make conversation so that they could go their separate ways without being rude. "How did rehearsal go?"

If Spot felt uncomfortable, he hid it well. "Oh, you know, nothing special." His eyes flickered unsettlingly back and forth, Race noticed. "Yours?"

"Same." A few heartbeat of silence passed as each of them tried to think of something else to say.

"Look," Spot began, shifting his weight to lean against the bathroom door and averting his gaze from Race. "About… what happened… before rehearsal…"

Race felt a sudden flare of nerves and embarrassment. "Don't worry about it," he said forcefully, cutting Spot off. His cabinmate's eyes flew to Race's own, a confusing mixture of anger, disappointment, and relief hovering just underneath the piercing blue. "Don't worry about it," Race repeated.

"Fine." Spot paused before adding a quiet, "Thanks."

"S'all right." Race felt his face burning red, and he shifted his weight. "So, erm, could I get by?"

Spot jumped out of the doorway so fast that, for a moment, Race thought something had attacked him. "Yeah, yeah, sorry!" Spot mumbled, brushing a bit of dirt from his t-shirt and avoiding Race's gaze. "See you around, then." Spot took off down the path, too quickly for Race to respond. More confused than ever, Race shook his head and pushed into the bathroom, blindly choosing a shower and drowning out his ever-churning thoughts with the noise of the falling water.

* * *

Spot swore angrily and punched at his pillow, frustrated and furious with himself. _Why haven't I just said it? _He hissed. _I always say stuff like that. That's who I am! _He pushed himself off of his bunk and began to pace the empty room. His cabinmates were either out in the common area or swimming down at the lake, and the cabin was mostly deserted. He paused to glare at himself in the dusty mirror by the door. "Just. Say. It," he growled at himself, punctuating each word. Some part of him realized that his outrage was out of character for him, but he quickly shut that down. Spot put his hands against the wall and leaned forward, staring at the wooden floor. _There is nothing wrong with me. I just need to tell him what needs to be told. I don't "like" him, and he shouldn't like me. _He looked up sharply into his own eyes, reflected back at him in the mirror. _Maybe we can be friends, but that's all. _"That's all," he repeated aloud, reinforcing the point.

Spot jumped as the creaking screen door opened for three of his cabinmates. Skittery, Boots, and Snitch walked into the room, their hair dripping wet, laughing. "Hey, Spot," Skittery greeted him. "Did you go swimming?"

Spot forced his face into the smirking grin he had become known for. "Nah, not today," he said. He allowed one image of Race jumping into the cool lake waters to pass through his mental filter before closing the small gap that had opened. "I took a shower instead."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive," Boots said, chuckling. Snitch and Skittery laughed, and Spot tried to join them. He didn't really succeed, but the others didn't notice.

"So Skittery, when's dinner?" Snitch asked, toweling his hair dry.

Skittery glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes from now."

Snitch dug in his suitcase for his hairbrush. "All right! I'm starving."

There was a general murmur of agreement from all but Spot, who felt to tense to be hungry. Dinner meant that he would have to see Race again. _Just friends, _he reminded himself. _We'll just be friends._

Snitch, Skittery, and Boots dried themselves off and talked and laughed, discussing rehearsal and the new arrivals. All three seemed to be in agreement that Jack and David were good editions to the camp, but Skittery didn't care for Diego much. "He's just a stereotype," Skittery complained. "He's everything that people expect someone at drama camp to be. Effeminate, loud, kind of obnoxious…" he trailed off. "I just don't like people who live up to their stereotypes."

"We really need to think of a nickname for him," Boots said, trying to change the subject. "David and Jack, too."

"Yeah," Snitch agreed. "But you guys are the best at that. I'm not that creative, I guess."

Spot snorted softly with an uprising of his old spirit. His own nickname wasn't very creative, and wouldn't have ever developed without his own response.

The conversation continued without any nicknames being created. Some suggestions were made, but none were any good. When the dinner bell rang for circle-up, Skittery, Boots, Snitch, and Spot left the cabin together and made their way to the camp common area. Kloppman stood in the center of the forming circle with his clipboard, peering over the tops of his glasses at what was written there. As Spot and the others joined the ring of campers, Kloppman looked up and cleared his throat. He called the counselors up to him when the stream of campers trickled out, taking roll. "Welcome all," Kloppman said as the counselors went back to their places. "I hope you've enjoyed your first full day of Performing Arts Camp! As you remember, you all participated in cabin clean-up this morning." He glanced down at his clipboard again. "Well, Highline, let's start with you. Their theme was Phantom of the Opera," he told the rest of the camp. "I'm sure everyone here is familiar with the story of the lonely Parisian opera ghost and his lovely Christine, his angel of music…" Kloppman closed his rheumy eyes and began to hum the title song. "Anyway," he said after a moment, "Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera theme got two Creativity points from me, as well as an eight for cleanliness. The main room could have been swept better," he added, almost as an apology.

Kloppman went on to give the scores of the other six cabins, with Sunset, the eldest girls' cabin, receiving the highest score of two Creativity points and a nine for cleanliness. As a reward, Sunset was allowed to go first into dinner. Spot had been looking for Race all through Kloppman's report, and finally located him when the camp director was telling the scores of Sagittarius, a second-year girls' cabin. Race stood on the other side of Blink from Spot, mostly eclipsed from Spot's line of sight. As the cabin with the second highest score, Highline went in next. Spot made it a point to hang back, waiting for Race to pass him before entering the dining hall. He didn't realize what he was doing until he saw that the only place left at the Highline table was beside Race. He sucked in his breath and sat down. Race didn't acknowledge his presence with more than a slight scoot to give him more room. Spot didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved. They didn't speak throughout the meal, though Race laughed and joked with everyone else at the long table. Spot, too, decided to play along, and joined the conversations buzzing around him. But he kept Race in his corner of his eye the whole time.

After everyone had finished eating, Kloppman stood from his place at the staff table and got the camp's attention. "In five minutes I'm going to ring the bell signaling the start of evening activity. We'll be playing basketball tonight. If you're interested, please come to the basketball courts right away after you hear the bell. After that, evening rehearsal will begin. Thank you."

Race didn't wait for Kloppman to retake his seat before he left the dining hall, barely slowing to dump his garbage and place his dishes on the shelf designated for them. Spot sighed and followed Race's progress down the hill to the chapel. After Race was out of his sight, he rose and left the dining hall to walk slowly back to the cabin. He had made his decision to befriend Race, but now he had to think of how. The setting sun nearly blinded him as he maneuvered his way down the thorny path, leaving his mind somewhere far away as he did so. Spot felt very strange, somehow distant from himself. Dimly, he registered the sound of footsteps behind him, but didn't turn to look.

The crashing of the bell behind him startled Spot, but he continued on to the front of his cabin, opened the door, and slipped inside to his bunk with his mind already searching for an answer to his problems with Race.

* * *

The tolling bell in the background seemed oddly fitting to Race as he pressed his forehead into his hands, sitting on one of the wooden chapel pews beside the lakeshore. He hadn't yet been to the picturesque chapel area, but the turmoil in his mind spurred on by his feelings about Spot drove him to the sanctuary of prayer that he had come to associate with his troubles being solved. He and his family had always sought refuge in their god, their God, but Race himself had felt himself growing apart from his Lord and Savior as he delved deeper into camp life. Though it was only the evening of the second day, Race knew that he had already formed a lasting bond with this place and these people.

Race lifted his head and stared out over the smooth lake, framed between the majestic trees. The chapel was right beside the rehearsal hall, shielded from the sun. The peaked roof of the rehearsal hall made a well-defined shadow against the grassy ground and tree trunks, a line separating cool darkness from the warmth of the orange sunlight. As Race followed the shady boundary with his dark eyes, he realized that he was nearing the brink of a potentially life-changing decision. _If I choose to… _he couldn't frame the culmination of his feelings for Spot, even in the hidden chambers of his mind. _If I choose to… with Spot, then there's going to be repercussions at home. There will be major repercussions. I'm not good at keeping secrets, especially ones like… those. _Race ground his teeth and his forehead wrinkled in thought. _And I don't think I'm honestly ready to make a decision like that. Not right now. _

Race's inner voice fell silent as he stared out over the lake, watching a distant pair of swooping birds dive into the water again and again. He shifted on the hard bench, his shoulders hunched with the weight of his thoughts. _Could I be fabricating this? _He wondered, changing the direction of his musings. _I mean, what if I just want something to happen? What if I'm just projecting my feelings for someone else onto him? I don't know. I just don't know._

Race sat in a laden silence, listening to the gentle lap of waves of the shore of the lake and to the distant shouts and laughs of his fellow campers. He sat in the chapel until the rehearsal bell rang, and he was the first into the hall, both ready for a distraction and upset to not have figured out a solid solution. He had decided, though, to befriend Spot before the relationship, if he could call it that, went any further down a path that Race wasn't sure he wanted to take. If they were friends, Race could have more control over where they went next. He smiled tentatively at Spot as they took up their circle places, and was greatly relieved when it was returned.

The evening rehearsal was an intense, focused one. The groups didn't separate this time, but stayed together in the main hall to learn the elaborate opening number. One hundred and twenty-two people chanting the familiar words of Circle of Life from _The Lion King_ sounded strange and mechanical to Race's ears, but he paid close attention, not wanting to miss anything. After they had finished, the groups divided and showed Pulitzer, who had shown up at the rehearsal hall half-way through the teaching session, what they had learned so far. Race's group, including Spot, performed what they knew of _Jesus Christ, Superstar_, while the other two groups did Walk Like A Man from _Jersey Boys_ and The Fisch Schlapping Dance from _Spamalot_, respectively. The rehearsal ran late, as Pulitzer insisted upon running each number until he was satisfied, which took far longer than anyone else was comfortable with. By the time the campers were released for bed, it was nearly eleven thirty, and Race was exhausted. He trudged up the hill to Highline with heavy feet and heavy eyes, blearily stumbling into more than one thorn bush on the way. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bunk, slipping out of his day clothes with his eyes closed. He pulled his sleeping bag up to his chin and fell asleep, too tired to think of Spot or anyone else at the camp. He slept soundly, dreamlessly, until the morning sun began to creep over the pointed treetops, flooding the world with its glowing warmth, heralding the start of another day.


End file.
